"Let me go," Rowan yelled at Alaric.
Alaric understood immediately and released the lasso from Rowan's arm. Rowan slid into his magic, singing with all his might to collect the energy and soul of the shadow being before it vanished. Slowly he pulled the death into himself, dragging and dragging until the vortex stilled and then reversed directions.
With a final rush, the being's energy flooded his body. His legs buckled and his knees hit the ground as he dispatched the remaining spirit into the Aether. Panting, he opened his had to reveal a pitch black seed.
He stumbled to his feet, then immediately vomited. Alaric left him heaving and sweating to sweep the cemetery for any other traces of Disorder. When he was done, he stared down at the soul-seed in Rowan's shaking hand. "Why did you harvest that?"
"I think it should be disposed of, not merely dispatched."
Alaric nodded. "Make sure you do so immediately."
"Since when do you agree with me so easily."
The men stared at each other for a few moments. Rowan broke the silence first. "What do you make of that?"
"I don't know. The Order accepts that some of your magic crosses into the realm of Disorder, but you have taken vows."
And it was growing more and more difficult to deny that he'd broken those vows. "Of course."
"What have you done? Tell me."
Rowan straightened his spine. "I helped you with a threat. That's what I've done."
Alaric narrowed his eyes but didn't press the issue. "I don't like the way it called you Shadow Walker. That's their name, not ours. I think you have been alone in your garden for much too long."
"Wouldn't my presence defile you if I were anywhere else?"
"Yes."
The answer stung more than anything Alaric could have done with magic. Something like guilt flickered through Alaric's eyes. For a moment, Rowan thought his brother might acknowledge his pain, but he turned away with an unreadable expression on his face.
"I must report to Master Ciprian. It's possible it was merely drawn to your use of magic here the other day, but the other is possible, too. What if the enemy has returned." Alaric strode back to his horse. His voice sounded numb as he put on a show of acting like Rowan's superior. "Make sure the soul is banished from all realities, Caretaker. Consider it an order."
Rowan collected himself and made his way back through the village. He held the seed in his fist as he walked. Despite everything that had happened, despite the uncertainty of what he'd done, he couldn't bear the thought of the strange being's soul-seed sharing the same space as the jewel he wore against his chest. Maybe the shadow being really was drawn to him and only him.
The man in his bed was a brand new person. Whatever his past was, his life would start over the moment he woke up. Rowan would make sure of it.
What choice did he have?
This time, the woods didn't shorten his distance, and he thought he would never get home. Worn out by the use of his magic, he realized he was beginning to doze on his feet.
He dropped to the ground and leaned back against a tree, resting his eyes for just a moment. He really needed to stick to growing flowers if doing anything else was going to make him feel like this.
When Rowan opened his eyes again, it was dark. A sliver of moon sliced through the gaps in the canopy of branches overhead. A dull pain drummed in his between his temples, and tension coiled in his upper body. Every movement of his arms and neck made him grit his teeth.
He berated himself for sleeping the day away, but luckily when he awoke he still clutched the black seed in his hand. He adjusted his vision to the liminal, where he didn't need light to see. The path looked more familiar now that he had rested somewhat, and he recognized the stretch that led to his bridge.
He might have slept, but his mind was still foggy from the massive amount of death he'd absorbed. He'd taken in the energy of the creatures by the river, but he'd never absorbed the energy of a living thing that was destroying itself. And he'd certainly never worked any magic on a creature like that.
At the time, it had seemed like the right thing to do, but he was regretting it now as pain lanced through his body with each step.
Rowan headed toward his bridge. His footsteps slowed and his pulse quickened as the energy of the woods shifted and wavered between this reality and something else. He spun around when a branch snapped behind him.
Two forms materialized before his eyes, one on his right and one on his left. A swift punch of Disorderly magic told him another had appeared behind him, blocking him from the bridge. He recognized them immediately as being the same kind of creatures he'd encountered by the river, yet different than the one he and Alaric had just dispatched.
They looked like humans, but they emanated the sticky, stringy energy that had shredded and bruised his flesh beyond recognition. Rowan braced himself and prepared to fight them off as best he could.
"Let us in, human." The two in front of him each took a step forward. Rowan held his ground.
Into his garden? He'd rather die first.
He'd meant to fight them with spirit, as he'd been taught by the Order, and hope for the best. But when the creatures each took another step, the death energy that still coursed though his body stirred awake. It flowed in a cold rush toward his fingertips of his free hand where it waited for his instruction.
He tried to contain his surprise and trust in an ability he didn't even know existed until this moment. Unfortunately, he still gripped the soul-seed in the other hand, and asking the creatures to wait a minute while he stowed it away for safe keeping was out of the question.
"You have something good on the other side, we can smell it." The creature behind him was almost close enough to whisper in his ear.
"Ask me what I've done to your brethren, and I'll be happy to show you. I'll never give you the souls in my care."
"The priests? That's not what we smell."
The remaining heat drained from Rowan's face as he realized he already knew that's not what they were after. He leapt to the side and flung his hand toward the nearest creature. The energy released with a crack. The unexpected strength of it propelled him backwards. He crashed into a tree and the back of his skull smacked into the trunk. A curtain of stars lowered over his vision.
He blinked vainly to clear his head, sensing the presence of the creatures as they closed in on him. He hoped that he'd at least managed to hurt one of them, even a little.
A pulse of energy swept over him as he struggled to stay on his feet. It was like all the air had been sucked out of the area, only to be released in a rush that left him breathless. His vision cleared, and he saw the creatures crumble to the ground, completely sliced in half at the midsection. The arm of the nearest one flopped against his leg as it fell, and he kicked it away.
He drew in a breath as he stared at his bridge. There on the threshold stood the owner of the garnet soul.
His slender figure cut an imposing silhouette through the layers of Rowan's sight. The energy that had bathed the space between them retreated to the young man's outstretched hand, rivers of blood-red magic joining together to return to its source in a sleek, effortless flow.
Rowan remembered the way that magic had licked his wounds that night by the river, the warmth of it as it eased his pain.
"You're awake," Rowan said, determined to cover his shock by acting like this was all completely normal. Not only was he awake, but he apparently knew how to use a magic that Rowan had never seen before. "Thank you for saving my life."
The man said nothing.
"Are you planning on killing me, too?"
Through the shadows of his liminal vision, Rowan could see that the man was fully dressed. He wore slim, black trousers tucked neatly into high black boots that laced up the front. A long, black overcoat with a cinched waist and two neat rows of silver buttons gave him a look of aristocracy. Underneath, his fine white shirt hung open at the neck. A braided tassel in black and red hung from each side of the collar. Silver glinted on his hand and at his throat.
Well, Rowan knew his ward certainly didn't find all of that in his hut.
"I know you must be confused. Just let me finish here, then I can explain everything." And maybe he could get some answers of his own. Remembering the agony of dispatching the creatures from last time, Rowan steeled himself for what came next. He opened his palm over the first corpse, and began to sing.
"No." The man spoke, his voice clear in the darkness of the forest. The low timbre of the command sent a shiver down Rowan's spine.
He hesitated. "What? Why not? You don't understand. I have to—"
"They will poison you. Come over here."
Poison? Rowan did as he was told and approached the young man, whose eyes never left the eviscerated bodies. His ward curled his finger in a beckoning gesture, and the bodies dissolved into nothing before Rowan could blink.
Talk about effective.
"Do you remember anything? Your name?" Rowan turned toward the young man, who he could now see with certainty was several inches taller than him. Despite his youthful appearance, he carried himself as if he were accustomed to being in command, with a fearless aura that was both intimidating and somehow mesmerizing. "Where did you get your clothes? And, your scar..."
The scar had completely vanished. Nothing but smooth, perfect skin showed through the open collar of the young man's shirt.
The man looked down at Rowan, the awareness in his gaze dulling with each heartbeat. Now he stared blankly at Rowan, who recognized the retreat from reality because it was something he himself battled with all the time when he was working his magic.
The man's clothes gave way in a shimmer of magic, and suddenly he was wearing Rowan's night shirt. A scar once again marred that perfect chest.
Not knowing what else to do, Rowan began to sing the song he always sung for this particular person, willing his ward to cross the bridge after him. The man blinked once, then followed.
At least this time Rowan didn't have to drag him.